No more slavin'

A clerk recounts how he quit his hated job and ponders about his older co-worker.

There were too many twenties in the register. My liberation started because of too many twenties in the register. That day, thankfully, I was working with Anthony, a 30 something year-old Lebanese man who had just come from an obscure country in Africa, where he grew up, because his father owned a resort there and where he’d worked before coming to this country for God knows what reason. He was quite respectful to strangers, although he didn’t take kindly to the bums who would often come around and try to steal some beer or some chips. He’d watch them carefully when they walked in, with an eagle’s eye, just waiting for them to f**k up and get caught by him. By that point, as nice he was to me; he was the biggest a*****e I’d ever seen to them. He wouldn’t just kick’em out like most people would, no, he would actually call the pigs. One thing that always fascinated me by these situations, and they happened fairly frequently, was the fact that not one, and I swear to you on my life, not one of them ever thought of just leaving before the cops came. Not a single one. They’d argue, plead, whine and beg to Anthony, who would always, and I stress on the word always, refuse their requests. The whole ordeal would begin once again when the cops came, with the bum, who for some reason, despite knowing he’ll never pay the goddamn fine and who’s probably better off in jail where he’ll get free meals and warmth in this icy winter, would argue, plead and whine and beg to the cop. This would often conclude with a citation or just a warning and would f**k up Anthony’s mood the rest of the shift. Even the cops grew tired of it, but they knew they couldn’t really say anything to Anthony, because he was actually doing what the law says he should. Just like the bums though, I often wondered why the cops, knowing that at worst, Anthony would just refuse their request, didn’t ever think of asking him to just kick them out and not call 911 every time a bum would make an attempt at stealing a bag of chips or a can of beer. Most people are just conditioned a certain way I guess, making logical sense going right out the window.

Like I said earlier, Anthony was always respectful to strangers and everyone at work liked Anthony. Anthony hated them though. He liked me the best. I guess because I was a foreigner, just like him. Technically I’m not, because I was born in this country, but my parents are, so obviously, I take from my parents and thus, I look like a foreigner. Which isn’t a bad thing, I don’t really care either way, because I’m used to it. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve never been treated like a local, which is understandable because, in this world, and don’t let anyone tell you any differently, because it ain’t the truth, just some politically correct s**t, you aren’t judged, approached, talked to or chosen because of the way you are, you are judged, approached, talked to or chosen because of the way you look. Anthony, like me, hated most of all, our boss. Cindy. This “use to be skinny but got fat because she eats too many chips at work” b***h whose mood pretty much depends on how her relationship with her boyfriend was going. Isn’t that sad? That the sole factor of your mood is how a relationship with another person, of the opposite sex I might add, is going? And I know this for a fact too, I’m not just bullshitting you for the hell of it, she’s actually said this before, TO ME! Of all people, me! And I don’t say this because I’m the kind of dude who’s gonna go around and talk all this s**t about her to the other co-workers. I say this because she f*****g hates me! This c**t is always telling the others that I never do any work around the place and never smile. She also thinks I’m stealing from the register. All of which are true, but she hasn’t seemed to notice all the packs of cigarettes I steal as well. She could at least talk to me about it, which she never has, instead of the others. I know all of this because despite never smiling to the customers, I’m pretty decent towards my co-workers. And I assume that the fact that I often give the smokers of the place free packs of stolen cigarettes helps my case as well. They’ve sort of became my informers in this little place. Another important fact to know about Cindy is that she swallows when she sucks dick. This, she told a former co-worker while they were smoking a cigarette. This is important to know, because despite what flap flicks will have you think, most girls don’t swallow. So I feel like it is my duty, as a man, to let people know when a woman swallows. That way, if you ever run into her, and you need to bust a nut, you’ll know that you have the rare specimen of a swallower on your hands. And on her knees, I hope. Now, thanks to me, you won’t have to worry about where to bust if you ever get head from my former boss.

Anthony hated her for another reason though, because she was what most people would call, a bigot. She’d often b***h, to Anthony, about the lazy and smelly black folks and the women-beating and terrorist Arabs. She was saying this, obviously not realizing, that despite his name being Anthony, he was also an Arab. It never crossed her mind that an Arab person might not necessarily be a Muslim.  I couldn’t even explain to you the feeling of happiness that washed over Anthony and I, like the feeling of a cigarette after a lay, when we heard that a black bouncer broke her cell phone in a bar after she drunkenly called him a “ little n****r “. At that moment, Anthony and I told each other that if one of us ever gets in a major argument with her, the other would jump in and start insulting her in an attempt at making her cry. Definitely not honorable or something I would have been proud of, but it’s “ use to be skinny but got fat because she eats too many chips at work “ Cindy so like most people when faced with the thought of confronting someone they hate, the ideas of rationality, respect and being a decent human being do not come to mind. So pretty much, the idea is that we both hated our boss, which I’m sure you’ve picked up by now.

After writing all of this, I’m starting to wonder why I didn’t just quit earlier. I mean, I wasted two and a half years of my life working there part-time, on weekends, twelve hours a week, at about 11 bucks an hour. That means, with taking off the two weeks of vacation I got every year, I managed to sell 1500 hours of my potential happiness for about 16,500 dollars. If that’s not exploitation, I don’t know what is. Damn, I feel sick after doing the math. Most of that money also went into a certain beverage that I managed to piss out before sleeping, clothes that I never war because I have too many, and food, that I assume by now, I must have crapped out. Why didn’t I quit? Probably because I was broke by the time the next paycheck came around so I needed the money and knew I’d need to money another two weeks from then. Money, man. It makes us do crazy s**t we don’t even notice until we’re through with it!

Anyhow, my liberation went down a little bit after rush hour at the store. Since I use to work inside a corner store that was located inside a subway station, rush hour, like you must imagine, was f*****g hell. Hundreds, maybe even thousands, of peons coming through, to buy their cigarettes, bag of chips, energy drink, coffee, chocolate bar, disgusting microwave sandwich, beer or even some beef jerky. I s**t you not, we even manage to sell a little bit of beef jerky during rush hours, that’s how many peons passed through the store. During rush hour, naturally, people often pay with twenty dollar bills. Like the phenomenon of cause and effect would let you know, due to this practice, a lot of twenty dollar bills would end up in the register. But of course, what “use to be skinny but got fat because she eats too many chips at work “Cindy would not know, because this c**t would much rather lock herself up in her tiny office eating twizzlers and playing with her vagina then come help us out on the registers, is that we don’t have the time to make a deposit and that people don’t really pay with fifty’s or hundred’s (Not that we would have taken them anyways). So rush hour passes, and while I’m giving a client his change back, “use to be skinny but got fat because she eats too many chips at work “Cindy walks past and oh! The horror! Has the misfortune of seeing that there’s a crapload of twenties in my register. Man, you should have seen the look on her face, you’d think I had just stolen her bag of Doritos or forced-fed her some beef jerky.

- What the f**k is this? She says, angrily.

- Yeah, there were a lot of clients, I didn’t have time to make a deposit. I was about to do it right now.

- Why didn’t you do it earlier?

- Because there were clients.

Yup folks, that’s how much of an idiot she was. Still is, in all likelihood.

- That’s not an excuse.

- Would you rather me make the clients wait will I make a deposit? You’re always saying the client comes first.

- Boy, don’t get smart with me.

Or else what? She’ll jump on top of my head and suffocate me under her fat pot belly?

- I’m not acting smart Cindy, it’s just common sense. What do you want me to tell you?

- Keep running your mouth and I swear to God, I’ll write you up for insubordination!

All this in front of a client, no less. She couldn’t wait. She had to f*****g scream at me in front of a stranger. Just had too. How bad was it going with her boyfriend? For the life of me, I don’t how this poor b*****d lives with her. Mind you, he’s actually good-looking and has bank. Do some guys really have such bad luck in getting women? That they feel the need to go out with it and put up with this kind of s**t in order to keep one? Now, I’m standing there, fuming. I serve the client as fast as I can and I just stare at Anthony.

- I’m gonna kill this b***h, man.

- Calm down, he says.

- No man. No f*****g way dude.

So I did it. I went and knocked on her little office door. She opened it. I stood there. The way she looked at me, she understood some vile s**t was about to come out of my mouth.

- Yes? She said, I could hear the uncertainty in her voice, it was like the first time I heard Led Zeppelin. 

- I swear to God, you better not talk to me this way ever again. I’m not your f*****g puppy, I’m not your  child, I’m not your f*****g boyfriend. Matter of fact, you talk some crazy s**t like that to me again, I swear to you, I will go tell him that you blew me off in your office one day. And that you swallowed. Which will make him f*****g believe me, because trust me, you’re one of the only girls in the whole world that’s not in porn that swallows.

- What did you just say?!?!?!

Oh man, she was flipping out. She was probably close to having a heart attack, which wouldn’t have been surprising in the least.

- You heard me.

Then she got arrogant, the little twat.

- First of all, you’re in so much deep s**t that you can’t even fathom how bad you’re going to feel. Second of all, DO YOUR F*****G JOB. THERE WERE TOO MANY TWENTIES IN THE REGISTER, HOW HARD IS IT TO MAKE A DEPOSIT? Now please, leave me alone and get back to work.

- I don’t give a s**t what the f**k you plan on doing because I quit.

I take my work polo off and throw it on the ground in her office like a five year old having a temper tantrum. It’s pretty embarrassing, now that I think about it.

- What?

- I quit. And I’m not finishing the rest of my shift either.

- You can’t do that!

- Huh yeah, I can. I’ve spent two years and a half of weekends in this dump, waking up way too early when I was s**t-faced and finished up way too late when I wanted to get s**t-faced. No more. Jesus, I dread this place, even more than your fat a*s. I can’t even begin to comprehend how the people who work here full-time feel! We’re f*****g slaves, we get talked to like s**t, we get treated like s**t, we get paid s**t, we look like s**t, and we’re even dressed up like s**t! The least you could have done was not make us look like a bunch of halfwits! Every day, I think about how much I hate this job, every f*****g day. And I don’t even get paid for that! You got that for free! So f**k off, f**k you and f**k this place. I’ll bring back the keys when you have my last pay check ready. And I want to get paid for the few hours I’ve already worked today.

And I left. I walked past Anthony.

- Enjoy your measly paycheck, you miserable b*****d.

Oh boy, did I ever regret that not even ten minutes later. I was angry that he didn’t stick to our plan, but man, how could I blame him? He wasn’t some kid like me. He was an actual real life adult who needed the money he made here to live. He told me his parents weren’t helping him out. And I shitted on him, like a big fat douchebag. Solely because he didn’t insult his boss while some idiot like me was quitting his part time job? I should have just been glad for the friendship we shared and the fact that he even agreed to do it in the first place, because I tell you, he was honest about it. He might have just not thought about it when he said it, or realized the consequences. Either way, he was right, and I shouldn’t have talked to him that way. I thought about writing him a message to apologize, but I’m too ashamed. Guess that shows I still have some growing up to do, because I’m sure he’d appreciate it. I even regret calling “use to be skinny but got fat because she ate too many chips at work” Cindy fat as well as telling her I’d tell her boyfriend that she gave me head. I don’t regret telling her how I felt about this job though man, best thing I ever did in that place. I felt so good walking out of that store, man, I’ll probably never understand what it feels like to walk out of a prison after doing some time, but it’s probably the closest feeling I’ll ever get to understanding it. It just felt so good knowing I was never coming back. Knowing I was never going to have to put on that ugly polo again. Knowing I wouldn’t have to deal with any of her s**t ever again. I encourage you to do it if you feel that way, really, you might be a horrible person, you might be a big fat f*****g idiot, you might be a peon, but if you still have a soul, I encourage you to do this. Keep in mind, this goes to people who still live with their parents, now that I don’t, I understand the real value of a paycheck, unfortunately. If you don’t live with your parents anymore, please, find another job first, because then you’ll most likely be deep in the hole and you’ll blame me and I just don’t have the conscience to deal with that. I’m sorry.